I SHALL DEPART.

When the flowers of Summer die,

When the birds of Summer fly,

When the winds of Autumn sigh,

I shall depart.

When the mourning Earth receives

Last of all the faded leaves,—

When the wailing forest grieves,

I shall depart.

When are garnered grain and fruit,

When all insect life is mute,

I shall drop my broken lute;

I shall depart.

When the fields are brown and bare,

Nothing left that's good or fair,

And the hoar-frost gathers there,

I shall depart.

Not with you, O songsters, no!

To no Southern clime I go,—

By a way none living know

I shall depart.

Many aching hearts may yearn,

Many lamps till midnight burn,

But I never shall return,

When I depart.

Trembling, fearing, sorely tried,

Waiting for the ebbing tide,

Who, oh! who will be my guide

When I depart?

Once the river cold and black

Rolled its waves affrighted back,—

I shall see a shining track

When I depart.

There my God and Saviour passed,

He will be my guide at last,—

Clinging to his merits fast,

I shall depart.